


Crawls to the Sea

by poisontaster



Series: Heart 'Verse [19]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Ficlet, M/M, Schmoop, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-11-16
Updated: 2006-11-16
Packaged: 2018-05-15 05:07:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5772436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisontaster/pseuds/poisontaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Year 14.  Sam and Dean have a home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crawls to the Sea

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place shortly after Sam & Dean inherit the house from Ellen.

Dean is hovering pleasantly when a shadow passes across him, blocking the sun and bringing a chill to his limp body. A shoe nudges his toes carefully.

"Whatcha doing?"

Dean's eyelid cracks open and he squints into the halo of setting sunlight around Sam's shaggy head. "This? This is known as resting. This is what human people do when they get tired. Didn't your alien masters teach you that before they sent you here?"

"The great Dean Winchester admitting he's tired? Can I get a witness?" Sam turns around like he's looking for other people to be hidden in the tall grass of the hill.

"You can get a foot up your ass if you don't shut the hell up," Dean growls, wriggling deeper into his nest in the grass and closing his eye again.

Suddenly there's sun on his face again and Sam's weight is settled on his belly and hips, Sam's hands planted to either side of Dean's head. Dean looks up into Sam's face. Sam's grinning. Which could be good or could be annoying. "And what about your cock, Dean?" he asks softly. "What do I have to do to get your cock up my ass instead?"

And that's got Dean's attention right and proper, sending a shiver running through him that winds up right in his groin, just like Sammy—the smug fucker—intended. "Oh, I think…"

Sam shakes his head, still smiling. "Shut up, Dean. You talk too much." He comes down more and runs his lips over Dean's. Not kissing. Not yet. Just kind of nuzzling. Dean's hands gravitate towards the belt loops on Sam's jeans like…well, like gravity and it's only a few moments before they're making out like it's high school all over again, or—since their high school years are a marvel of fucked up denial and screwing each other up—the sweet honeymoon of time right after they reunited and couldn't keep their hands off each other.

Not that they're really any better about it now, you understand.

After a while, Dean gets Sam's shirt off and Sam on his belly in the sunwarmed grass, gnawing bruises into the smooth skin of Sam's very sensitive back while Sam digs his fingers into the dirt and gasps, "C'mon, Dean. _Now._ "

They don't have lube and so Dean is careful, easing in on spit, precome and a prayer but Sam's more than good to go, sighing and pushing back, looking back over his shoulder with wicked, happy eyes. Dean was expecting a quick and sloppy fuck, instead he finds himself going slow, his knees spreading Sam wide and his fingers twined through his brother's. It lasts a long time and for once, they don't really talk.

The sun has set when Sam comes, spasming and twisting under him. It's full dark when Dean does, Sam making small, pain-pleasure noises under him but clutching Dean's thighs into him at the same time.

By the time they've both eased onto their backs, panting up into the sky, the first stars are starting to bleed through, fragile and pale. Dean rubs Sam's stomach idly, periodically bringing his fingers to his mouth to taste Sam on the tips. Sam hums contentedly, sounding most of the way to sleep.

"So," Dean says, after a while, and he really _doesn't_ want to think about the trip down the hill just yet. "I hope you're happy."

"Oh, I am," Sam agrees, growly-low.

Dean laughs. "No. I mean, _yes_ , but… There it is, Sammy. Everything you ever wanted, sitting right there."

"Mmmm. No. Most of what I always wanted is lying right here with me having just fucked my brains out." Sam kneads Dean's thigh—the good one—as idly and lazily as the movement of Dean's hand across his stomach.

"Fucking romantic," Dean mutters. Sam just snorts, turning his face so his lips graze Dean's shoulder. They're quiet for a while. Sam's snoring softly and Dean's hovering again before he remembers what he was trying to say. He opens his eye. "Welcome home, Sammy."


End file.
